Pensive as I was in this lazy afternoon. Looking out in the window and the hazy light filtered through. Sending dust like a strobe of crystals. I stared. Just stared for the longest time.

The muse didn’t come as I expected. Like an acrylic tube on the verge of squeezing out of its contents, I just stared coldly. Nothing spectacular. The portrait on this blank canvas are just collections of imaginary lines and some vague illusions on my mind. And build a colony of dots. Like Van Gogh.

I could paint of scribblings out of nothingness. And my thoughts wander into wide spaces. And wanders still. I see only spatters of red, black and white against this concrete grayness. Of anger splashing buckets of paint into surface. Like Pollack.

I could paint the sky blue if I want to. I can make the leaves of the trees rustle and sway with the winds. I can make a brook serenely flow through underneath a little wooden bridge. I can make distant hills fade into indigo. Like Monet.

I could paint a man without a face. And apples falling like raindrops. And doves flying. The tragedy, the pessimism and idiosyncrasy of a human being. And a dark world encapsuled into an umbrella, black and mysterious. Like Magritte.

I could paint a typewriter with keypads of pain. And some melted clocks. Of swans reflecting elephants. And the gory details of death. Of treachery of reason. Of denouncing fascism. And bizarre existence of realities. Like Dali.

I could use color yellow and orange interspersed with black squares, sharp angles, cubes and rectilinear forms in human subjects. Of some gothic revivals. Of somber shades of blue and blue green. I can use pink painted into some circus scenes. Of collages with pieces of everyday things. Like Picasso.

The brush is waiting to be lifted. The easel is upright and ready. The mixing palette is parched. The canvas is already stretched out to its frame. The sketchbook is laden with unfinished illustrations and images, waiting to come alive. Where freedom is knocking on this soul’s threshold.

For such a single detached specie like me, it is so weird that I wouldn’t take for a consideration the temptestous possibility of finding a mate here in Dubai. For one obvious reason, that free-wheelers abound in this place, seeking to devour the clueless and the helpless. Not that I am turning to be a little hypocritical, but basically I am just trying to be rational and stay focus. I keep reminding myself, that the reason that I had pulled my guts to be away from our country is to provide my family a good future.

Who else would not want that? Everybody does. And every Filipinos are one and the same to this primary objective. Perhaps, that is the reason many of them, old-timers, keep on rubbing their knuckles white to work here, braving the loneliness and home sickness.

Honestly, beautiful girls are around and you can take your pick, then go on fantasizing. With big bucks you had in your hand, you can choose to have a haremdom. But the fact still remains, this one opportunity to make it good must be kept in all rationality. Yes, we are all angling for a kill.

And who would even dare to let this opportunity to pass? Not I. I would not compromise my values and my virtues just for the sake of having a whimsical adventure. It is only temporary, so I must plan it carefully and ahead. I know that I am not getting any younger, and I have to make use of the time left for me to build up for my own stability. I would want that if the opportunity to work here in Dubai becomes saturated with stiff competition and work becomes less available, I have saved enough for the rainy day.

I know that no matter how I chose to be always on the move, time will come that I will be back to embrace the motherland. And I dont want to become another liability.

I would rather spend my time cultivating my self to become a better person. Not the other way around. I would not like to go on things that will self-destruct me and cause innocent people to be burdened with complex issues. I would rather have my own loneliness being dealt with my spiritual relationship with God.

Hames

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Currently Reading

Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher

The Book

Clay Jensen returns home from school to find a mysterious box with his name on it lying on his porch. Inside he discovers cassette tapes recorded by Hannah Baker—his classmate and crush—who committed suicide two weeks earlier.
On tape, Hannah explains that there are thirteen reasons why she decided to end her life. Clay is one of them. If he listens, he’ll find out how he made the list.